Forever I: Hope For the Future
by Alexannah
Summary: -ON HIATUS-
1. Nothing Lasts Forever

**_Summary:_**_ Life is short, even for a 150-year-old wizard. Albus and Minerva, convinced the other never felt the same way, hid their feelings from each other until it was nearing too late. But a revelation about Albus' past and Minerva's determination for them not to be separated by death causes a decision to give them both a second chance at life._

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** Child Abuse (mentioned), **Slash**, M-Preg

**Disclaimer:** I owe Spikewil for this idea really, a while ago he/she posted several drabbles on the HPBabies group using this idea – the whole being reborn thing, I mean. The rest, I hasten to add, is my idea. Also, as usual, JKR owns the characters. Unless I put in a minor OC somewhere or something.

**Author's Notes:** Main ship really is Albus/Minerva, but we got some Harry/Ron and Cedric/Hermione too.  
This is sort of … a cross between ABW (reversed) and another fic I've started but I'm not telling which one yet because I haven't got that far in it. (When I have I will tell.) It's … strange, in a way, but the sort of thing I like to do. I think I gave quite a bit away in the summary, actually. Before I get a load of "Why is Cedric alive?" questions, read the first chapter carefully. This isn't AU, but it doesn't take HBP into account either.  
  
-----

**Hope For the Future**

By Alexannah

_Living each day  
As if it's the last  
It's what I should do, but I know  
The day has just passed  
**- I Dream**_**  
**  
**Chapter One: Nothing Lasts Forever**

The smallest bedroom in Number Four, Privet Drive, looked a mess. Paperwork was spread across the desk and half the floor, all the drawers were open with clothes hanging out, a large suitcase was open on the bed with a pile of underwear in and a trunk was by the pushed-to door, its lid off and a cloak draped across the top. Harry was going backwards and forwards, trying to sort out finances at the same time as packing everything he owned.

Two consecutive pages from a calendar were pinned on the wall, the last day of July and the fourth of August ringed with crosses through every day up to August 2nd. Two days left until Harry left Privet Drive for good. He was in a strangely happy mood, humming a tune he'd heard on a wizarding wireless as he tried to fold up Dudley's old t-shirts. He paused, changed his mind, and instead threw them on a pile next to his trunk – to be burnt. Or given to a charity shop. Somewhere he wouldn't see them again.

Harry's current school uniform went into the suitcase, as did all his books and some of the ones that had come with the bedroom. The rest he put with the t-shirts. His treasures, including his Invisibility Cloak and photo albums, went into the suitcase without a second thought. When his trunk was empty he piled into it the items he wanted rid of. It was annoying, not being able to perform magic for another year, otherwise he would have shrunk it and put it in the suitcase too.

He couldn't recall a time he had been happier. Voldemort's defeat only a few weeks ago – goodness, was it really that long? – had come close, but not enough. Harry was on top of the world. He was sixteen, in love, leaving the Dursleys for good, Voldemort's victims were no longer dead and even his injuries had cleared up (more or less). Before, especially in the last few years, Harry had never experienced joy without something coming along to ruin it. But that wouldn't happen this time. How could it? Voldemort was gone, gone forever, and his remaining supporters were in an Azkaban with much tighter security. And with Amelia Bones as Minister, he didn't even have to worry about being harassed by the Ministry or the media any more (the first act in her new position was to ban reporters from trying to interview Harry without his prior consent).

So it was with enthusiasm he was looking forward to his new, bright future. A smile crossed his face as he recalled the moment it had been set down for him. It had started as a joke, really. Ron's parents had been in the dark about their relationship – in fact, apart from Hermione, everyone had – and they'd been playfully discussing how and when to come out. Not being sure how his parents would react, Ron wasn't up for telling them any time soon, whereas Harry insisted it would be better sooner rather than later. The idea was immediately dismissed at first, but they both found themselves giving it serious thought. Then when Hermione, at the last minute, backed out of Harry's birthday celebration on grounds of spending time with her family, it was set in stone. On the night of his seventeenth, Harry had gone to bed no longer a bachelor.

He and Ron had got together during the summer after fifth year, when Harry had been nothing but depressed and angry and felt Ron was the only one who really understood. (This wasn't true, but it was what he thought.) Their relationship had got closer and by the time sixth year had ended, Harry had finally found the strength in himself he needed to face – and vanquish – Voldemort. And he had. And not only had he lived, but a legend that no-one had ever proved to be true or false, had turned out to be correct: that if a wizard (or witch) was killed by their own wand's brother, any lives that their own wand had taken directly in the last seven years would be restored.

The doorbell rang. Harry ignored it.

Bertha Jorkins (back to normal), Cedric, a very confused Muggle called Frank and a short list of Voldemort's victims in that last year had been awoken, alive. Harry was still experiencing that giddy happiness that washed over him when he saw all the live figures. Hermione had been a victim, killed by Voldemort himself. All of them refused to talk about what came after death, but Harry knew there must be _something_, seeing as during the six weeks Hermione had been dead she seemed to have fallen for Cedric Diggory, and vice versa. Well, they made a sweet couple. Even Ron agreed.

Harry snapped back to the present as a knock on the door jerked him back to his senses. Vernon and Dudley were both out, so he figured it was his aunt. "Come in."

The door made a small thud as it was pushed back onto Harry's trunk. There was a small pause, before a male voice said, "Going somewhere, Harry?"

Dumbledore's eyes were back to their usual twinkling state, Harry noticed as he whirled round in surprise. As the list of the dead – mostly Muggles and Ministry workers – had grown longer, they had faded, but now they were back in his eyes, where they belonged. They twinkled more as Dumbledore registered the surprise on Harry's face.

"Sorry, did I make you jump?"

Harry grinned. "Just a bit. What are you doing here, Professor?"

"What, I'm not allowed to pay a visit to the biggest trouble-maker in the school?" Dumbledore's twinkle grew brighter with each word. "I came to give you these -" he held out what looked like a huge mail sack "- and to see how you are. How's your arm?"

Harry looked down at his left side. The skin still looked a bit sore, but it had improved so much he barely noticed the pain. "Better."

"And your non-physical well-being?"

It was Harry's turn to laugh at the surprised look on Dumbledore's face as he smiled honestly. "Honestly, sir, I've never been better."

The raised eyebrows look was truly comical. "Oh?"

Harry turned to Hedwig's cage and began refilling her water. "I'm alive. All my friends are alive. Voldemort is _not_ alive. The Ministry is in safe hands (for now, anyway). Two more days and I'm out of here. What's not to be happy about?"

The way Dumbledore was looking at him made Harry wonder if he knew there was something else. As much as he liked – and admired, and fully trusted – Dumbledore, he didn't want anyone to know about him and Ron until Ron's family did. It just wasn't fair otherwise. So he slipped off his ring and put it in his pocket.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful, apparently not having noticed the action. "I'm surprised. That you see it that way … I mean … well, we couldn't bring back – well, everyone."

Harry blinked. He _had_ thought about this. But he understood – it was only Voldemort's wand, and only in the last seven years. Which ruled out …

"My parents and Sirius?" Harry finished. "Look, Professor, I've lived without my parents all my life. And I've had a year to accept that wherever Sirius is now, he's probably happier there than he would be if he was alive. As much as I miss all of them and would love to have them back, I'm not going to go into depression again because I can't."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "That's good to hear."

"So, what's in here?" Harry asked, gesturing to the mail sack.

"Fan mail. For you. And don't change the subject. Where are you going?"

"I've got a flat in London. You want the address? Telephone number? Name of the person who sold us – me – the furniture?"

If Dumbledore noticed the slip-up, he didn't comment on it. "Very funny, Harry."

Harry grinned. "I try."

"Actually as you're still at Hogwarts I do need your address at the least for school records."

"Oh." Harry dug in his pocket, found a pen and scribbled the address quickly on a scrap piece of parchment. "Can you read that?"

Dumbledore squinted. "Not very well."

Perhaps it was the brief flicker of pain in his eyes that made Harry ask, "Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine, thank you Harry," Dumbledore said airily, taking the parchment and holding it up to the light. "Ah, that's better."

It was the use of Harry's most-commonly-used phrase in answer to questions about his own health that made Harry frown, but he didn't press it. Perhaps he should have done.

The conversation having dried up, Harry attempted to salvage it. "Do you want a cup of tea, Professor?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Why not?" he said cheerfully. "I'm sure you could do with a break from packing as well."

Harry grinned, still a little uneasy, and gestured for Dumbledore to lead the way downstairs. As they reached the door, Dumbledore paused and turned round thoughtfully.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Call me Albus."

Harry was caught off guard. "Sir?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I think we've known each other long enough to drop the formalities, Harry. At least outside the classroom."

A smile grew on Harry's face as they made their way into the kitchen. He busied himself with the kettle while Dumbledore nosed in the cupboards.

"No biscuits?" he enquired, sounding disappointed.

"Sorry," Harry replied. "All out."

"Shame." Dumbledore shut the door and winced. "Ouch."

Harry looked up sharply. "Professor?"

Dumbledore didn't correct him, just stood still, clutching his arm with the other hand, his head bent forwards. Harry shakily put the mugs down on the bench. "Professor!"

No response. Harry grabbed his shoulders. As he did so, with a gasp of pain, Dumbledore's knees buckled and he fell forwards, hitting his head on the bench and collapsing backwards. Harry knelt down beside him. "_Professor!_"

Dumbledore didn't seem to be breathing.

**TBC …**


	2. Alive

**Summary:** Life is short, even for a 150-year-old wizard. Albus and Minerva, convinced the other never felt the same way, hid their feelings from each other until it was nearing too late. But a revelation about Albus' past and Minerva's determination for them not to be separated by death causes a decision to give them both a second chance at life.

**Disclaimer:** See first chapter

**Author's Notes:** I just worked out I made a mistake last chapter – half the time Harry was sixteen and half the time he was seventeen. This is the real fact: he has just turned seventeen. I kept forgetting I was writing a year _after_ OotP ended when I was typing the chapter up.

* * *

_**Last Chapter:** Harry grabbed his shoulders. As he did so, with a gasp of pain, Dumbledore's knees buckled and he fell forwards, hitting his head on the bench and collapsing backwards. Harry knelt down beside him._ "_Professor_!"  
_Dumbledore didn't seem to be breathing._

**Chapter Two: Alive**

There was a lone jar of piccalilli on the bench-top. Harry picked it up and looked at the label. The expiry date was two years previously. He opened it, sniffed it, and stuck a finger in it. It tasted all right. There was only a little bit left anyway.

Harry put it back and looked around. The new flat was made up of a kitchen/living room, small study with two desks crammed in, bedroom, box room (that was what the estate agent called it, anyway – at the moment it was living up to its name with a single box of Ron's old things and a second of family photos waiting patiently to be unpacked in it) and bathroom. It wasn't much, but it was home. Their new home.

Opening the fridge, Harry saw that Hermione had carried out her promise of stocking the place with food ready for he and Ron to move in. There was a note on the table saying that she wasn't sure what they wanted in the freezer so she just put in a tub of ice-cream, a box of fish-fingers and some ice packs. Harry wasn't really hungry but he hadn't eaten since breakfast and he wanted something to do, so he cut two slices of bread – it was cold from being in the fridge, Harry knew he'd forgotten something, he'd buy a bread bin next time he was out – emptied the rest of the piccalilli onto one slice and added a slice of ham and several of fresh tomato. He took a bite. It wasn't a bad combination. Wandering out of the room, he saw food didn't seem to be the only thing Hermione had prepared either – a bookshelf had appeared in the now-magically-expanded study filled with all their set books for school, plus, Harry noticed, the newest edition of _Hogwarts: a History_ and some Muggle classic literature he'd heard of but never read.

Harry circled the flat three times before sitting down on the bed, unsure what to do with himself. After Dumbledore had collapsed, he'd yelled on instinct for an ambulance and Petunia, the only Dursley in the house, dialled 999. That was where her usefulness ended: after that she just hovered in the doorway, apparently panicking, while Harry, after failing to find a pulse, went through the process he'd learnt in First Aid back at primary school. Funnily enough, he hadn't panicked at all. He'd stayed calm right till the ambulance came and took him to the hospital. He'd stayed calm while he wrote to Professor McGonagall asking her to come quickly, not knowing who else to contact. He'd stayed calm until the doctors told them that he was stable. Then fear set in. He'd had to leave the hospital because he couldn't stand the atmosphere. Not wanting to go back to Privet Drive, he went to the new flat.

What if Dumbledore was dying?

Harry didn't know a lot about medicine and so on, apart from the First Aid thing, but he did know that when an old person – Dumbledore was hardly what you would call young – started having heart attacks all over the place it meant you shouldn't get your hopes up they would be around for your NEWT results.

The bedcovers had been smoothed out since his birthday. Harry lay down on Ron's side. There was still a trace of Ron's sweet scent on the pillow. For a while he just lay still, breathing it in. It was the next best thing to seeing Ron himself; which was not a good idea, as at that moment Ron was probably breaking the news to his parents now about their commitment. Harry closed his eyes and filled his head with thoughts about the last time they'd seen each other. It had only been three days but it felt like eternity already. A small grin spread across his face. Ron always had a way of relieving tension, even when he wasn't physically there.

The phone rang.

For two rings, Harry stayed where he was, lost in dreamland. Then it occurred to him that it could be Ron on the phone (the Burrow now had its own line, thanks to Arthur and Hermione combined) and he jumped up. Then he remembered he left the flat number with Professor McGonagall at the hospital and rushed into the kitchen to grab the receiver.

"Harry?"

Professor McGonagall called him by his first name. That was either a very good sign or a very bad sign.

"It's me, Professor." Harry plunged straight into the question. "How is he?"

"Awake, now," Professor McGonagall answered and Harry sank into a chair, relief washing over him. He could hear from her tone that things were better, not worse. "The doctors said you saved his life."

Harry shrugged, even though she couldn't see him. "I did what anyone would do."

"Maybe, maybe not. You know …" there was a pause and when she spoke again, it was in a quieter voice, "Lots of wizards are very ignorant when it comes to First Aid. Maybe we should have classes at Hogwarts."

"Good idea. So, apart from awake, what's he like?"

"A little tired." Professor McGonagall sighed. "Well, very tired. Obviously. But he's alive. And he wants to thank you."

"Don't worry, I'll come over." Harry was already reaching for a coat.

"You do that. Maybe you can convince him that he's _not_ perfectly fine, as he keeps telling me." Harry could almost see the eye roll and chuckled.

"I'll tell him." Harry paused. "What … what do the doctors say about … you know, the future?"

Professor McGonagall didn't have to ask what he meant.

"Albus … he's …" Harry heard her swallow. "He's not as young as he used to be. Harry, just come over. He wants to see you."

Harry nodded, forgetting again that he was on the phone. "Okay. Tell him I'm on my way. Bye, Professor."

He hung up.

-----

Albus hated hospitals. Especially Muggle ones. Enduring foul potions was one thing; having tubes sticking out of you was another. But he wasn't complaining. As everyone kept telling him, he was lucky to be alive.

Minerva sidled back into the ward, apparently having finished her phone call. He smiled and tried to sit up properly. She was by his side in a second, pushing him back down. "Oh, no, you don't."

"Minerva, really, I -"

"Don't say it." The words 'I'm fine' died in his mouth at the look on her face. "That's what _I_ said last year, remember, and you know how _that_ turned out."

Albus sighed. He remembered, when Minerva was convinced that the only thing wrong with her was the Stunners; that the Healers were just being careful, keeping her in St Mungo's so long; that she would be perfectly fine …

It was ironic, Albus thought, that merely _months_ after the Healers' diagnosis, this had happened. At least Minerva wouldn't be dying on her own.

_Oh stop it_, he scolded himself. _It's just a scare, I'm not dying … yet …_ But he couldn't suppress the feeling that he was wrong.

"Is Harry coming?" he spoke out loud instead.

Minerva nodded. "He said to tell you he's on his way. He didn't say whether …" She glanced around, "Muggle or magical, so he could be here any time."

Albus surveyed her as she spoke. Minerva was definitely paler than usual. Perhaps it was just the shock, but it might not be. "Are _you_ all right, Mina?" he asked quietly. "You don't look very well."

"Can you blame me?" she exclaimed. "I get a note from Harry saying he's broken his leg, in a Muggle hospital, can I come and help him, and I turn up to find out you collapsed in his kitchen and he lied in the note because he didn't want to scare me!" Minerva sat down in the visitors' chair, her head in her hands. "And you expect me to be perfectly fine after that, do you?"

"No." Albus reached out and peeled her hands away from her face. "I'm just worried about you. The cancer's been getting worse recently, hasn't it? I can see it in your eyes."

Minerva's mouth twitched. "Trust you to be worrying about _my_ health when _you_'re the one laying here looking like some Muggle experiment with all those tubes."

"You don't have to rub it in. I _know_ I look like an octopus."

Minerva laughed. It was strained, but at least it was a laugh. "I think 'octopus' is pushing it, but you do look funny."

"Am I interrupting something?" a familiar voice enquired in amusement.

"Harry!" Albus tried to sit up again but Minerva pushed him back down. "Will you stop doing that?"

"I will stop doing that when you stop trying to sit up. Just _rest_."

"You sound like Poppy."

"I'll tell her you said that!"

"Good, then I can tell her who stole her last box of Skiving Snackboxes."

Minerva's mouth fell open. "_Albus!_"

Harry chuckled at their banter, but it was a weak chuckle. "You two sound like a couple of five-year-olds. Grow up!"

Albus grimaced. "I hated being five."

"Oh, shush," Minerva chided. "You got everything you wanted when you were five, you spoiled brat."

Albus stuck his tongue out. "I was not spoiled."

"Aberforth always said you were a spoiled brat when you were little."

"He would," Albus grumbled. "Just because I was the younger one."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I always thought you were older than your brother."

Albus shook his head. "Nope. He's three years older than me and lived with rose-tinted glasses permanently glued to his eyes. Till he left Hogwarts, then he suddenly decided to be a pessimist instead. Never found out why he changed his mind." He tried in vain to stifle a yawn and failed. Minerva glared at him.

"Rest, you. Now. You can thank Harry properly later."

"It's okay," Harry said quickly. "Really, I did what anyone else would have done – anyone else who knows First Aid -"

"Stop being modest," Minerva smiled. "And you, Albus, get some rest. Harry and I will be near if you need anything."

"Do I get a say in the matter?"

"Of course not." Minerva kissed his forehead. "See you later."

Albus sighed and closed his eyes. He was more tired than he would admit; he just hated making Minerva anxious, especially now. He suddenly realised what she'd done and cracked one eye open to check she and Harry had left the ward before gently touching the place where she'd kissed him. A silly grin spread over his face. He'd won the bet. Sort of.

Aberforth. Albus frowned. Perhaps on his deathbed he would tell Aberforth straight about what it was _really_ like to be a Dumbledore. The look on his face might give him one last laugh before he croaked.

_Spoiled brat_. Honestly. Some people really were blind.

**TBC** …

**_Next chapter_:**_ More ADMM, the outcome of Ron's confession, Hermione appears, and possibly Aberforth. Also the chapter will be longer this time._

**Review Responses**

**adge9631:** Um … maybe … You'll have to wait and see …

**ImSoMMAD:** Don't let him do what? Die? I'm not _letting_ him do anything. If he dies it's because I did it. But I'm not saying he's going to die. Just that I'm not telling you whether he's going to or not. (You'll find out the answer soon, though. But I promise whether he dies or not, the fic will have a happy ending.) Tiny, weeny bit of MMAD in here – more in the next chapter. Promise. Which summary? The one in or outside the story? Which bit?

Thanks also to **Carrieba**, **itberice** and **Ringwarriorkayla** 1607 for reviewing!


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